


Brothers Through Time

by deanandsam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Gen, Past Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanandsam/pseuds/deanandsam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did Sam and Dean struggle though past lives? A series of one shots about the brothers in different historical settings ranging from the Stone Age to Modern Times</p><p>Ch.1. Hunters of the Great Plains.</p><p>Ch.2. Under The Mountain.</p><p>Ch.3. The Longships.</p><p>Ch.4. From Rags To Riches.</p><p>Ch.5 The Old West.</p><p>Ch.6 The Deer.</p><p>Ch.7 Fame and Fortune Sometimes Strike.</p><p>Ch.8 A Life On The Ocean Wave.</p><p>Ch.9 Spaced</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In the mists of time.  
__________________________

 

The hunter stood tall on the edge of the ridge overlooking the small watering-hole.

He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the bright yellow, but cold, light of the midday sun.

 

He and his little band of hunters had been trailing the family of deer for the past three days, before they had finally caught up with them.

The thirsty animals had relentlessly roamed the cold country-side in search of water and fresh grazing to slake their thirst and hunger.

There were five animals there for the taking, a full grown male and his entourage, and what a boon it would be to them if they managed to kill them all.

He needed some luck.

The food was at an all time low and the skins would make much-needed clothing for his people.

He was the leader of the tribe and it pained him to see the women and children suffer from hunger and cold

 

The Shaman of the tribe, his younger brother Sam, had experienced a vision of the small herd of deer and had indicated the direction to him.

His brother's visions were never wrong; although it upset Dean to witness that each one left him with terrible head pains.

However thanks to him and his fore-telling, their people were relatively prosperous and hadn't yet died from cold or starvation as the availability of food became scarcer and the temperature of the plains diminished continuously.

 

The rest of the tribe led by Sam were on the move, following his advanced hunting party, but with the elderly, children and the women, 

the travelling was much slower and the human caravan would be about a day behind.

Better that way, as there would be fewer odours for the deer to scent, Dean mused.

When they arrived however, he wanted his people's spirits to be uplifted by the abundance of fresh deer meat.

 

He cleared his mind of all thoughts other than those of how best to go about killing his prey.

He drew back to consult with his men, all proven hunters with the lance.

Dean had trained them incessantly until their aim was true, and they could hit a moving animal in the head or the heart, their weakest spots,

halting them in mid-flight.

He himself was an expert hunter, and he could count on a few fingers the number of times a prey had escaped death by his hand.

 

Sam, his inventive younger brother, had come up with a way of honing their flint heads until they were razor sharp without breaking them,

and they were much more efficient than those of the other sparse tribes they encountered on their wanderings.

 

He smiled as he thought of his brother.

They had lost their mother soon after she gave birth to Sam who had then been nursed by another woman of the tribe, alternating him with her own new-born son; and their father John, who had been the former leader of the small group, had been killed in a hunting accident trying to save one of his men from an enraged buffalo.

 

They had been both young when it had happened but Dean and Sam had grown strong, intelligent and cunning; always together, the elder taking care of the younger, united in a bond of brotherhood that amazed the other members of the tribe, but that very bond and the need for each brother to look out for the other, coupled with their continual overcoming of anything that nature threw at them, had benefitted everyone.

 

Dean had grown to be a great hunter and Sam the powerful Shaman and Medicine-Man of the tribe, his accurate predictions keeping them in food

and free from surprise attacks from animals or hostile tribes.

What was more, he was always searching for better and more efficient ways of improving the methods used in their daily lives, and often came up with little ideas to better their harsh existence.

 

Dean issued whispered orders to the younger and less experienced half the hunters to spread out behind the watering hole in a semi-circle and frighten the animals into coming towards him and his expert handful of lance-throwers.

 

When the rest of the group arrived the next day, there was great joy in seeing the hunters at work on the carcasses of the five deer, and everyone set feverishly to preserve what they could for the days to come, and to cure the leather for clothing.

 

Sam sought out his elder brother who had gone on ahead to explore the surrounding country-side.

"I see that none of the prey escaped you, brother," the younger smiled as he found him not too far ahead; relieved and happy to see that

his impulsive, risk-taking brother was unharmed.

"There would have been nothing to capture if your unparalleled visions had not told us where to start looking," Dean acknowledged, as he grinned back at his towering little brother.

Sam was the tallest man in the group, as yet they had not come across anyone else bigger, not even amongst the other tribes that wandered the plains.

 

Sam went to stand at the side of his beloved brother, brother who had raised and protected him after the death of their father and he bumped 

his shoulder against his sibling's.

 

"Come," Sam said, "the women are cooking some of the meat. We will all eat our fill tonight thanks to you."

Dean locked eyes with him. "We are a team, brother. Together we will lead our people to a new land where the prey is bountiful and the days warmer."

Sam nodded as they held each other's gaze; then turned as one to join their companions in their celebrations for the sucessful kill.

The End


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers are caught up in a terrible tragedy but Sam has a vision that saves them.

Sam pursed his lips as he observed his brother inch his body ever closer to his latest lover; although the morals of the town were anything but strict and the brothels abounded, it irked him that Dean didn't have a minimum of self-restraint, at least while they were working.

The taverna was full of clients demanding food before retuning to their work in the cooler late afternoon of the scorching August day.

 

The stone counter-top was surrounded by hungry, impatient and overheated customers, all jostling to be served first.

Sam's face curled into what Dean had likened to a bitch in pain.

 

He shouted over once again to his brother, who whether on purpose, or because he was totally caught up in the ample charms of Lissa, continued to studiously ignore him. Sam would have to resort to other methods.

 

He held up his hands to calm the impatience of the clients and sent the young boy who worked for them to get Dean's attention.

The youth pulled on Dean's' tunic and pointed towards the swarm of people around the serving counter. Sam saw his brother exchange

one last caress with Lisa and make his way over.

 

"Sam, you just can't live without me at your side," he joked. "I was in the middle of a very important discussion with Lisa; you know how the political problems of our city are so important to her." Dean smirked innocently.

"Yes, I noticed; " Sam answered sarcastically, rolling his eyes at his brother as he deftly dealt out portions of cooked food and mulled wine over the counter.

"You," he reminded his brother pointedly. "Assured our parents that you would give me a hand with the serving while they went on a visit to their relatives.

That's the only reason Father was persuaded to leave."

 

"Okay, Sam, I get it. The quicker we get rid of this lot, the less you'll lecture me, and the quicker Lisa and I can get back to talking politics."

True to his word, Dean put his mind to the job, and between them both satisfied the crowd of noisy clients in more than record time.

 

Theirs was a family business.

Their parents John and Maria had inherited the small establishment from her own mother and father, and when the two brothers were born, they too became part of it.

Sam enjoyed cooking and serving in the small family-run taverna but Dean had always hated it.

 

He much preferred his daily chores of keeping the kitchen supplied with fresh boar and rabbit meat, which he hunted with unerring accuracy.

However his easy charm and engaging smile brought in plenty of customers and he wasn't averse to a brawl when some patrons overdid their drinking; but whenever necessary he helped out over the counter; he just liked to bitch about it!

 

When the last of the midday customers had taken his butt out through the doorway, the brothers leaned back in exhaustion.

Even inside the shadowy shelter of the stone walls, the heat was oppressive and the fires under the bulky cooking pots only upped the temperature to impossible levels.

 

"Sammy," Dean huffed bumping shoulders with his brother, "Why don't we take a break for an hour or two? We won't get many more people in until tonight anyway and Claudius can handle the odd client."  
He nodded towards their young helper.

"If you lose any more sweat, you'll become a wizened prune and Jessica will ditch you for me," he teased, knowing how his younger brother mooned over his yellow-haired girl-friend.

Sam didn't need to be told twice.

He sweated heavily enough normally, but now he could have filled ten amphorae with the amount of water he had produced during the last couple of hours.

 

"You know Dean, that's the best idea you've had all week," his brother bumped back. "I think a visit to the Baths might just be what we need."

"Great minds think alike Sammy."  
Dean smiled affectionately at his little brother. "Let's go!"

 

The deserted streets were blisteringly hot as the boys made their way to the bath-house, never more comfortable than when in the familiar company of each other.

 

Dean was lazily anticipating his evening meeting with the black-haired Lissa when his brother unexpectedly fell to his knees, head between his hands, a low moan escaping his lips.

Panicking at the sight; Dean threw himself down beside his sibling, his strong hands clasping the broad shoulders.

"Sam, Sammy!... What's wrong?"

 

One of Sam's hands reached out and grasped the home-spun cloth of Dean's tunic, the other covering his eyes.

He held on tight, grateful for the supporting presence of his elder brother.

"Dean, "his brother whispered painfully." The city will be destroyed; everyone must leave or they will all be killed."

"What in the name of the gods are you saying?" Dean murmured in the same whispered tones, though there was no-one in the empty street

to hear his words.

 

"The mountain will erupt; flames and red-hot rivers of molten rock and ash will cover the city, and it will disappear from the face of the earth as if it had never existed. We must all leave Dean." Sam's voice rose in pitch, as his hold on his brother's tunic became more forceful.

"We have to warn everyone to flee the city!"

 

Dean pulled his oversized little brother up and soothed him as he always did when Sam had one of his nightmares.

"It's only a dream, brother," he consoled his shocked sibling. "Look, the mountain is a quiet as a sleeping dog," but as his eyes turned towards the flat-topped peak, he saw a thin wisp of smoke rise into the still air, and a thread of doubt began to infiltrate his mind.

 

Needless to say, true to the old Latin proverb, "Nemo propheta in patria," not a soul would believe Sam's warnings and Dean had to eventually caution him to keep quiet or people would begin deserting the taverna, bored with Sam's continual advice to abandon the city.

Dean had already got into fights defending his brother from those who had accused him of trying to bring misfortune down on them all.

 

He watched helplessly as Sam got more and more distraught because no-one would believe him; no-one but his brother, for Dean now did, all too well aware of the increasing activity on the mountain-top.

Sam had warned him that in two weeks' time, what he had seen would come to pass, and Dean feared that his brother's vision was indeed prophetic.

 

He had tried personally to convince Lissa to leave the city, but she just brushed aside his warnings.

"Nothing is going to happen to the city, Dean" she'd laugh as she pressed her eager mouth to his, wondering why his reaction was less than attentive.

"Sam's right, " he insisted holding her at arm's length, hoping to convince her with his wide-eyed gaze "Please leave, Lisa and take your family with you."

"You're joking! The political elections are coming up soon. How would it seem if my father left the city now?" she answered, annoyed at his insistence.

 

Sam had received the same reaction from Jessica and from the town elders; no-one contemplated leaving the city, despite his warnings.

 

As the days passed, and the mountain became more threatening, Sam begged his brother to do something, anything to avert what both brothers were now sure would be an immense disaster.

"Sam, what do you want me to do? I'm only one man." Dean turned angrily on him.

"We've warned everyone and still they'll do nothing, not even now that the sky is turning red with the reflection of the mountain's fire. We must save ourselves, Sam. We have to join our parents."

"But Dean," his emotional little brother replied. "How can we leave everyone to their fate?"

 

Dean shook him roughly. "We've warned everyone hundreds of times. Let us at least save ourselves."

"But what of Jessica and Lisa?" Sam murmured.

"We can't kidnap them brother. If they do not want to leave, we cannot force them," Dean finished sadly.

 

"Come we must make haste to leave, or it will be too late for us too. You are sure that tomorrow will be the day?"  
Sam nodded glumly as they gathered the few possessions they could carry, plus any coins they had earned in the last weeks, and left the doomed city.

 

They had abandoned her just in time, as the heat and blast from the terrible eruption was felt by them too, even though they had journeyed non-stop from the city.

The terrible tragedy played out before their shocked eyes, the view from the hill-top all too clear.

 

Dean clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder, "You saved us both Sam. I don't pretend to understand why destiny has chosen for us to live while hundreds have died today, but know this little brother," he said as he turned his sibling towards him." If you had refused to leave then I would have stayed and died beside you."

Their eyes met in understanding; their love and bond of brotherhood firm and strong.

 

Pompeii.

August 79 A.D.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The choppy seas of the north held no obstacles for the Longships as they kept their prows pointed towards the still distant shore.  
They had been at sea for days but now their journey was almost over and there would be bounty and honour for all; many tales would be told around the blazing camp-fires during the long cold winter nights.

 

The inhabitants of the green isle went about their daily chores oblivious to the impending catastrophe about to befall them.  
News had spread of Viking attacks to the North but none of these invaders had ever ventured as far south as this, and so when the first ships appeared like tiny black dots on the far horizon, no-one noticed anything until it was too late to organise adequate defences of any kind.

 

At the front of the humble cottage two beautiful healthy children played unconcernedly together, the elder allowing the younger to straddle him as he pretended to let him win the friendly tussle they'd been engaged in.

 

"You win, Sammy," the eight-year old announced with the most serious of voices. "You're just too strong for me, little brother! I surrender."  
"See, told you I could beat you," the younger squealed in his childishly high voice as he grinned down at his brother, delighting in his victory.  
A victory that was short-lived as Dean flipped him over and warned. "Careful, Sammy, don't get too carried away when you get the upper hand. It doesn't take much for the winner to find himself the loser again."

Another child would probably have cried out in frustration at having the tables turned on him so easily, but Sammy just looked up and absorbed what his big brother had said as if it was gospel.  
He nodded as Dean pulled him up, his curly brown hair bobbing with the motion.  
"When you win, you've got to make sure that the loser has really lost," Sam considered in that adult way he had sometimes had.

 

Dean smiled indulgently.  
His Sammy was intelligent, not like the other four year olds in the village. Sometimes it seemed the age difference between them didn't exist.

Dean adored his little brother and knew there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep him safe.  
He was well aware that Sammy loved him back just as intensely, always trailing behind him like the tail on a dog and never letting him out of his sight. On the rare occasion it happened, the smile on his brother's face when he saw him, filled his heart with joy.

Dean never thought to question why he preferred spending his time with Sammy instead of with boys of his own age; he was at his happiest alongside his brother; it just felt so right.

 

At first Dean paid no heed to the shouting he heard in the distance, but when the first spirals of black smoke began to elevate into the powder-blue sky, he began to feel uneasy. His parents were due back soon; the height of the sun indicated that it was around midday.  
His unease became stronger as he caught the high-pitched screams threaded among the shouting.  
He scooped up the child, all his big brother instincts yelling at him to take him to safety.

>"Come on Sammy We're going to play hide and seek," he said keeping his voice calm.  
"But Dean, I'm hungry, it's nearly time to eat" Sam protested.

"We can still have one more game. It'll pass the time more quickly until mother and father get home," Dean smiled, trying not to transmit his fear to Sammy.

He hauled his younger brother piggy-back onto his shoulders, headed towards the little cave-like indenture in the hill-side where they often went to play and deposited him inside.

"Listen Sammy, we're going to play a new version. You're going to hide in here and then guess which of us is going to come for you; Mother, Father or me; and if you guess correctly you'll get three extra pieces of apple pie; but don't come out for anyone else, whatever you may hear. Okay?"

Sam nodded eagerly.  
He loved his mother's apple pie but as Dean loved it even more, there was always a fight over the last slice.

 

Dean turned to go when he felt a small grubby hand gripping his arm. Sam looked up into his big brother's eyes and whispered in a small voice. "Promise you'll come back for me, Deannie."

Dean pushed down the emotion that was welling up inside him.  
"I promise, Sammy. I'd come to the ends of the Earth and beyond to get you. You're never going to get rid of me little brother. "

They broke eye contact. The four year old and the eight year old had forged their unbreakable bond.  
Promises are made to be broken, but Winchester promises live on through time and space.  
Sammy settled down behind the rocks, secure in that of his big brother.

Having ensured Sammy's safety, Dean made his way back to the cottage; he could have stayed hidden with Sam, but he wanted to know exactly what was going on.  
If there was some kind of danger he would go back for his baby brother and take him into the forest.

He had barely set out past his home towards the town where the screams had been echoing from, when he found himself grabbed by a muscular arm and he looked up into the face of tall bearded stranger.  
He tried to pull away, kicking and writhing like a wildcat to free himself from the iron hold.

 

"Well, well, well, Look what we have here a true little wolf-cub."

Dean stared up at the warrior, his eyes full of challenge.  
"Let me go," he yelled as he struggled ineffectually against the superior strength of the Norseman.

"You show great courage for a little whippet. It's a pity you were not born to us, but that can be remedied." he affirmed, hoisting the terrified boy over his shoulder like a side of bacon, and carrying him back to his ship.

The pillaging went on all day and it was night-fall when the Vikings took to their ships again, leaving a smouldering village and a few surviving townsfolk who had managed to escape the savage raid, 

No one paid any attention to the sobbing of the frightened little boy curled up into the corner of one of the boats.

Years Later.  
\----------  
Sam wiped the sweat from his brow as he cut the last of the corn and expertly bundled it into a sheaf.  
The sun was at its lowest, ready to set for the night and there was nothing more he could do that day.  
The eighteen year old picked up his scythe and the cloth that had been used to wrap his midday meal of bread and cheese and headed for home where his father would be waiting for him.

John Winchester had been injured all those years ago when the last Viking invasion had taken place and he had been reduced to doing light chores around the house. Sam's mother had been raped and left for dead and though she'd recovered, the loss of her first-born had preyed on her mind, undermining her will to live. With the passing of the years she had just wasted away, leaving the twelve year old Sammy alone with his crippled father.

Life hadn't been easy but they had managed to survive by pooling their forces with the few other villagers left alive.

 

No-one ever had ever known what had become of his big brother Dean, but Sam thought about him every day and prayed for his safety.  
He didn't ever want to forget his brother's face and when he was alone he brought up the image in his mind, keeping it fresh and actual.

As he walked home, he saw a figure on the road making its way towards him. Usually he never met anyone at this hour and he watched curiously as it got nearer.

It was a man, tall and dark-haired, his muscles those of a trained soldier.  
His hair looked strange, spikely uneven, as if he had just cut it carelessly with a knife He was dressed in a simple green tunic, although he had a short broad-sword tucked in at his waist.

The stranger stopped in front of Sam, coming right up into his personal space, surprising the eighteen-year old and causing him to take a step back.

 

The man had a smirk on his face. "Hello, Sammy," he said.  
"Do I know you?" Sam asked, wondering how this stranger could possible know his name.

"You've grown real tall, taller than me even."  
He just stood there immobile, waiting; looking at Sam as if he was something important, sacred even.

Sam studied the man before him and he finally looked into his eyes, really looked.  
He remembered those eyes. He remembered the last time he had seen them.  
He superimposed the image he always carried in his mind. The eyes were the same.  
No, it couldn't be!

He swallowed nervously before he tentatively uttered the one word that he had never again spoken since that terrible day.  
It felt rusty on his lips; rusty with disuse.  
"Dean?" he whispered, wanting to believe but afraid to.

He didn't have to wait for an answer, his heart had already told him what he needed to know.  
He wanted to throw his arms around his long-lost brother, but he felt shy and awkward.  
He didn't have to worry, for Dean enfolded him in a back- breaking hug, whispering in his ear. "I promised that I would come back for you Sammy and I always keep my promises."

Dean felt the shoulder of his tunic becoming damp as his little brother's tears rolled down his cheeks.  
"Dean, is it really you? I never thought I'd see you again" he cried brokenly.

"You should have believed me when I told you that you were never going to get rid of me baby brother," Dean said, as he held on tight to the other half of his soul.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

From Rags To Riches.

 

The raggedly-clothed child waited patiently in the gloom of his hiding place, the sickly stench of rotting food more familiar to him than any sweet perfume.  
This was where he had grown up, among the poorest of the poor.  
He had no memory of the gentle caresses of his mother, driven to an early death by the hardships she had suffered in bringing her babies into the world; her last words to her distraught husband John had been to make him promise to care for her young children above all else.

 

The child had not been witness to that moment, he had been but a baby at the time, but his older brother had watched and silently listened to the last poignant words of his dying mother, and the five-year old had vowed to keep his baby brother safe and defend him from the violent and uncaring world in which they lived.  
Sometimes when Dean was in the mood, he would tell his little brother Sammy how beautiful their mother had been, as beautiful as an angel with her long blond tresses ,and how she would cradle baby Sammy in her arms and sing sweet lullabies to make him sleep.  
Sam would fall asleep with the image in his mind, curled up in the safe, warm arms of his older brother.

 

When John had died prematurely, destroyed by alcohol and remorse for the loss of his wife, the poor but relatively safe life the two brothers had enjoyed until then had disappeared with him, and they had found themselves alone; two defenceless children in a city of criminals, cruel low-life and danger

 

Dean had been ten and little Sammy only six but Dean had risen to the occasion, his protective instincts and love for his little brother giving him the strength to carry on, finding food and shelter where he could, stealing and begging to keep his baby brother and himself from starving.  
As the months passed, Dean came to realise that he had a gift for this nomadic life on the streets and it was a rare day indeed that he didn't find food to bring back to his younger brother.

It wasn't the first time that Sam remained in waiting here.  
Dean preferred going alone to find food, for more than once his worldly-wise older sibling had noticed the lecherous eyes staring greedily at his angel-faced blond-haired little brother, and Dean knew that he hadn't a chance in hell of defending Sammy on his own against the rabble that walked the streets, many of them stalking little children to sell on to those who dealt in the buying and selling of human flesh.  
Dean often thought how much safer Sam would have been if he had warts on his nose or a face that wasn't quite so cute.

He was on his way back to the alley in which he had left Sammy; the sum total of his food raid had been two apples, a hunk of cheese and a couple of pieces of bread he'd managed to steal from the stalls at the market.  
He'd also been lucky enough to find a drunken old Gent who had thrown him some pennies as he had held out his hand in the manner of the other thousands of raggedy orphan children who infested the filthy streets of London.  
The pennies would not be spent however.  
They were for a rainy day; to be added to the little cache Dean had already stashed away in a hidey–hole, dreaming that one day he and Sammy might have enough money to leave London and all its misery.

He had heard of the ships that went to America, had even seen one when he and Sammy had daringly wandered farther from their habitual haunts, down to the harbour.  
Perhaps when they had put past enough money, he and Sam could board one of those tall ships and make a new life for themselves there.

He was so caught up in his day-dreaming that he didn't notice the band of older youths who had crept up on him and without warning he found himself thrown to the ground as they plied him with kicks and punches.  
Dean defended himself as best he could, but five against one weren't odds that a twelve-year old undernourished boy could beat, and he soon found himself lying bloody and moaning on the dirty ground, his body a mass of pain.  
He would probably have been finished off and left for dead had not the door to one of the nearby Gentlemen's clubs opened and the tall figure of one of its frequenters stepped out into the street.

 

Sir Robert Singer exited the exclusive men's Circle; open only to the Peers of the Realm, amongst whom he counted himself.  
It was early to be going home but he was heartily bored by the progressively drunken state and senseless chatter of his acquaintances. Better alone than in the company of these imbeciles, he grumbled to himself as he made his way down the steps.  
His attention was held by a bunch of scruffy youths beating down on something lying on the side-walk

 

He yelled at them, thinking that they were torturing some poor animal, for brutalised cats and dogs were often found on the smog-filled corners of the city streets.  
Lord Robert loved dogs and hated to see them ill-treated.  
The gang ran off immediately as soon as the older man opened his mouth; the small booty of food and pennies Dean had gathered now in the hands of his assailants.  
Even as his tormentors ran off, Dean couldn't summon up the strength to move; he had been careless, distracted by impossible dreams instead of listening for potential danger from the other inhabitants of this shadowy world.  
He heard the footsteps of the man who had probably saved his life and tried to focus his dazed eyes on him.  
All he could make out was a beard and a top hat.

 

Sir Robert was not new to attacks of this kind.  
The prisons were full of thieves, robbers and drunks, but like most of the richer population of the sprawling city, tossing a few pence to the occasional beggar kept their consciences at bay.  
The theory was that there would always be the poor and the rich, and apart from the occasional philanthropist, the richer classes didn't bother all that much about the fate of the thousands of homeless children that roamed the streets.

 

However this was no dog, as Lord Robert soon ascertained, but a young lad no more than eleven or twelve.  
As he bent down to examine him better, the boy turned his head towards him and fixed him with a stare from two fiery-green eyes, as if challenging him in some way.  
He drew back a little in surprise.  
Any child of his acquaintance would in tears after the beating this child had taken. He somehow felt drawn to the courageous boy.

 

"Come," he said" My carriage is near-by. I will take you back to my home and have your wounds attended to."  
"No way," the boy answered in an emphatic whisper. "You could be worse than those who attacked me for all I know, old man!"

Sir Robert felt the strange necessity of convincing the child of his good intentions.  
He wanted to know more about this oddly defiant slip of a boy.

 

"I only want to help you and get your wounds tended to, lad," Robert continued. "I assure you I have no ulterior motives. You may put your trust in me."  
"And just why would I do that?" the boy insisted insolently. "I know nothing of you."  
"Perhaps you have heard my name; I am Lord Robert Singer, one of The Queen's most trusted advisors." he declared rather pompously.

"Yeah, I was just conversing with her Majesty yesterday and she was saying how nice you were," the boy answered sarcastically.

 

Lord Robert was beginning to feel out of his depths with this strange child.  
"What would make you trust me enough to let me get your wounds attended to, " he asked bewildered.  
"Give me your purse with all your money and I'll come with you," was the immediate answer.

 

After a moment's hesitation, Singer yanked out his wallet and deposited it in the bloody outstretched hand of the urchin, not quite understanding why he was bothering with this stubborn child.  
Dean pulled himself up in to a sitting position, brushing off the hand that Singer held out, and pushing the wallet into the pocket of his tattered trousers.

 

"Let's go," he stated calmly "but I have an errand to run before I seee to my wounds"  
Sir Robert stretched out his hand once more, and this tine the boy latched on, showing a moment of weakness from the beating that he had taken.

Once ensconced in the carriage, Dean leaned back on the soft leather seat. "Tell the cabby to go to Castor Street. I have left something there I must collect."  
“You heard the boy, “ Singer said.  
The driver obeyed but he was familiar with that the street ; it was in a nasty area of town and he wondered just why his master wanted to go there.

"Tell your driver to stop at the next corner," Dean slurred, his ribs and multiple bruises becoming ever more painful. "I have to go and get something"

"You are in no state to walk, " the older man replied." I will send the driver to get it."  
"No, Dean replied. "I have to go."

 

For the umpteenth time, Singer wondered why the Hell he had bothered offering his help to this hard-headed boy, but a little voice inside him was telling him that it was the right thing to do.  
"Come then, if you must. I will accompany you, " Sir Robert sighed.

They man and boy advanced into the rubbish-filled alley and half-way in, Dean stopped.  
"Hey, Sammy, it's me. You can come out now. " he said softy.

 

Sir Robert didn't know what to expect, maybe a dog, but the sweet-faced grimy little boy with the wide soulful eyes that emerged from behind the heap, was the last thing he expected to see.  
"This is my little brother Sammy, " Dean announced in a proud voice. "Where I go, so does he," he continued in the defiant tone he had used earlier.

 

Lord Robert knew when he had met his match and he helped Dean back to the carriage, Sammy's little hand fisted onto Dean's trousers.  
"Dean, are you all right?" he heard the little one ask worriedly.  
"You're all covered in blood. I was afraid you weren't coming back," he finished, his childish voice wavering at the terrible thought.

"Nah, Sammy. There s nothing that could keep me from coming back to you," the elder replied in a confident voice and Singer felt a watery glaze coming to his eyes as he bore witness to the obvious love that linked the two children.

  Years later \---------

Dean admired his elegant form in the full-length mirror. He thought he looked especially handsome in the bottle-green frock-coat and tight dark brown pants.  
The ladies were in for a treat tonight, he grinned to himself.  
"You finished admiring yourself yet, Dean?" his brother bitched. "We're late already, and Bobby told us to be on time for once."  
"Now, now, Sammy, we're always on time, it's the others who arrive early,"  
Sam just rolled his eyes. His big brother was incorrigible.

 

While Dean was eagerly pimping himself up for the evening, Sam had no wish whatsoever to attend another boring party with shark-like females all on the look-out for a rich husband; and if Sir Robert's fortune was anything to go by, he and his brother would be the exact kind of rich husbands that the girls were aiming for.  
It didn't matter that they were not Sir Robert's own flesh and blood as he had legally adopted them years ago and his monies would fall to himself and Dean.  
Since the night that Robert had taken them home with him, their lives had changed dramatically; no longer two waifs rummaging for food and shelter on the streets but fortunate young boys, kitted out with private tutors and all manner of lessons, from horse-riding to tying a perfect knot in neck-tie.

 

Sam had discovered he was a quick learner; his curious mind a sponge for all and everything around him.  
He especially loved Bobby's library, full of thousands of books, and although Sam was an avid reader, there were still many volumes that he hadn't yet touched.  
His brother's mind was as quick as his own, but Dean's interests were as different from his as chalk from cheese.  
Recently Dean had persuaded Bobby to invest in one of those new-fangled horseless carriages and he spent hour upon hour with it, fascinated by its workings.

 

Sam would rather have passed his evening in the library but his brother had threatened that if Sam didn't come, he wouldn't go either.  
Although they now lived in a fashionable London Town house with any amount of bedrooms, the two of them continued to sleep in the same room, the bond that had formed in the early years of their childhood just as iron-clad now as it was then; the need to know that the other was near at hand impellent.

 

Sam waited until Dean had finished his one man admiration society, then made their way to the front door where their carriage awaited.  
Jack, the driver, didn't have to be told where to go as Bobby had amply explained, and before long they pulled up at the premises that hosted the evening.

 

The brothers leapt down from the carriage, wondering what was going on as all was quiet, and there definitely didn't seem to be any party in course.  
They looked at each other mystified.

 

"Jack, are you sure this is the right place?" Sam asked their driver, his voice doubtful.  
"Yes, young master; Lord Robert said to bring you to this address." he confirmed./> "Come on, Sam," Dean pulled at his brother. "Bobby never makes mistakes. If he gave Jack this address then this is where he'll be."  
He strode on ahead, yanking his recalcitrant younger brother behind him

 

They found two man-servants at the salon's double doors.  
"Lord Robert awaits you within, " they informed, pushing open the doors.  
The brothers were even more confounded as everything was dark; they were almost blinded when the illumination suddenly kicked in, and the more than a hundred guests all shouted "Surprise" and clapped their hands in a welcoming crescendo.

 

"What the Hell!" Dean cursed as his eyes adjusted to the light.  
"It's a surprise party Dean," Sam informed him calmly.  
"You don't say Sammy!" Dean snarked.

 

They saw Bobby coming towards them, a glass of champagne in each hand:  
"What's all this, Bobby?" Dean asked.

 

"It's ten years to the day I found you boys on that street, and I wanted to celebrate the wonderful years I've had since you two little rascals brought joy and laughter into the life of a dry old man.  
You've both made me so proud. Here's to my boys, Samuel and Dean Winchester-Singer."

The brothers' cheeks turned as red as beet-roots at the unusually passionate words from their adopted father, while all the guests came forward to greet them, the ladies especially eager to be first in line.  
After all there were no more handsome men in London than Singer's two sons and now they had a tailor-made excuse for planting their lips on such fine boys.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in 'The Old West'

Dean Winchester, twenty years old, handsome as an Adonis, lady-killer extraordinaire, silver-tongued liar, veteran poker player and a lightening draw with his fancy silver-handled pistol. 

For the times in which he lived, he was a young man of success but his brash confident exterior hid a hole in his heart as big and dry as the Nevada desert.

 

He was a man with a two-fold mission, one to find and one to punish, and when he found his target, it would pay in the most painful way that his imagination could envisage and Dean Winchester was very very inventive.

 

He rode leisurely into the little township, his black stallion an extension of his own lean body.

At first glance, the back-water town was no different to countless others that he had passed through on his eternal trek around the sparsely populated back-country of the young USA; the dirt-paved main street, the Town Hall, the Sheriffs' office, hardware store, stables, and of course the omni-present saloon cum hotel, the establishments where Dean earned his living; relieving the men stupid enough to include him in their poker games, of their cash.

 

He headed for the Livery stables.

His horse needed a good rub-down and a bag of oats, and his own dry throat was clamouring for a soothing drink.

He assured himself that the black stallion would be well-cared for by making the stable boy's eyes bulge with his generous tip, while simultaneously issuing a calm warning that if Impala wasn't given the best treatment available, he wouldn't be pleased.

Being the recipient of the cold glare from Winchester's hard green eyes, the stable boy hastily decided that no horse would be better cared for than this man's.

Dean nodded to the lad, aware that his message had been received and understood, and turned towards the saloon; he just wanted a cool beer and a quiet corner in which to drink it.

 

He had been in the saddle for hours, and as much as he loved his horse, his ass had breathed a sigh of relief to be off Impala's back for a while; his bow-legged gait testimony to the many hours he spent in the saddle.

 

 

The inside of the saloon was dark and shady giving him respite from the heat of the afternoon and he sipped gratefully on the beer; it wasn't particularly cool but at least it wet his parched throat with its thirst-quenching liquidity.

 

He took in his surroundings.

There were only a couple of old guys at the bar. There would be no action as far as poker was concerned until later on in the evening, when the work load of the ranch-hands was over and they came in looking for whiskey and some fun.

He would finish his beer and head on down to the bath-house he had seen on his way in. Wash off some of the ever-present dust.

 

A few hours later, refreshed, fed and ready to roll, Dean made his way along the street towards the saloon. He was about to cross over when his attention was taken by a wagon that passed by, coming to a halt outside the general store.

He continued to watch curiously while an older man and a teenage boy jumped down, tied up the horses and went inside.

He shrugged.

It was an everyday occurrence; wagons stopped at stores all the time, so why were his instincts prodding him to pay attention to this particular one?

Dean was a man who lived by trusting his hunches; they had kept him out of a heap of trouble in the past and he had no excuse not to listen to them now.

 

For some unknown reason he felt his heart beating a little faster as he approached the doorway and looked inside.

The man and boy were standing at the counter, where the store-keeper was piling up the items marked down on the list he held in his hand.

Dean pushed open the door and entered, three pairs of eyes turning to see who had come in.

 

The store-keeper's eyes were more than welcoming, a new customer meant more business but the intelligent grey eyes of the older man were scrutinizing him suspiciously, while the moss-green eyes of the teen were staring at him with a mix of curiosity and fear. 

Dean found that odd.

Why should the youngster be afraid of a total stranger?

The answer could only be that the kid was afraid of ALL strangers; that he had experienced nothing good from them, and didn't trust them one bit.

Somehow Dean felt a sudden protectiveness towards the unknown youth, a feeling that he had experienced once upon a time for a much smaller child, but that sense of protection had served for nothing, as that child had been taken from him.

 

 

 

"Be with you in a moment, Sir, after I finish with the two gentlemen here," the store owner declared, smiling at the new arrival.

"No problem, " Dean replied, plastering an answering smile on his face. "I'll just have a look round while you're filling their order."

 

He saw the fear in the kid's eyes lessen, but the curiosity remained as he continued to stare at him.

The suspicion in the older man's eyes hadn't diminished a whit however, but he turned back towards the counter and to his purchases.

 

"Don't forget the bags of salt, Joe," the man grunted "and the whiskey".

"Samuel Colt, I swear I don't know what the Hell you need all that salt for. You can't be putting it all in your soup."

"You're selling salt and I'm buyin' it. What I do with it is none of your darn business," the tall guy who obviously went by the name of Samuel, answered crustily.

 

 

Dean glanced back at the kid who averted his head quickly, not wanting to be caught staring, which was exactly what he had been doing.

Dean returned the favour as he took in the unruly chestnut hair, wide puppy eyes and perky nose.

There was something about that face that was so familiar, tugging at his memories; memories of a similar face but much smaller and cuter as only that of a chubby six-year old's can be, a six-year old who had been very precious to him.

 

Dean latched weakly on to the counter as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Could it be that his search was finally at an end?

Ten years of hardship, hunger and despair as he scoured the country-side searching for his missing little brother. Was it possible that when he had nearly given up hope of ever finding him, he had miraculously stumbled across him here, in this no-name dick-town. 

 

He composed himself as well as he could and took a few steps towards the two men; he had to know!

 

"Don't come any closer, stranger," the tall guy ordered, a gun suddenly appearing in his hand, pointed at Dean. "We wouldn't want any accidents to happen now, would we?"

"You got it all wrong, mister," Dean replied. "I don't want to harm you, I just want to ask a few questions. Look I'll drop my hardware onto the floor."

He extracted his gun from its holster as slowly as he could, keeping it well away from his body and dropping it on the wooden boards, kicking it away with his boot.

 

"Why so interested in us boy?" Samuel asked, calmer now that the stranger was less of a threat.

Dean hesitated, he didn't know how to begin.

He had been disappointed more than once when he had thought to have traced his younger brother, and somehow he didn't want his heart to take another blow, though he was convinced this time he had struck gold.

 

He glanced over at the kid once more.

The expression on his face was identical to that of his own little Sammy when he used to wait with bated breath for Dean to finish telling him a story; his younger self had loved stringing it out as long as possible, revelling in the expectant expression on his baby brother's face.

 

"I...I.. uh. The kid with you. He seems familiar. Um...I feel as if I've met him before," he stuttered, feeling all of ten years old again.

He saw the boy's eyes widen at his words as they looked him over, his forehead scrunching as he tried to imagine where he could have met the tall dark-haired stranger in front of him, but Dean no longer had any doubts.

His heart, mind, instinct and love told him that this was without a doubt his little brother. He had finally found him.

"Sammy...?" he whispered, his voice breaking.

 

As if a switch had been turned on in the kid's head, his expression took on a look of wonder and he pronounced a name he'd almost forgotten, buried deep amongst the memories of another life he barely remembered.

"De'n?" He said the name tentatively as if it was too important for his lips to utter.

Dean felt his lips curling up into an idiotic smile at the once familiar sound of his name spoken by his little brother, after years of lonely silence.

 

He took a step forward, oblivious to the gun still pointed at him; even if he died now, he didn't care.

He had found Sammy, heard his voice once again, seen that he was whole and healthy; but the gun didn't go off and Dean continued forward, his eyes never leaving his brother's face, drinking it in as a parched man laps at cool water.

 

"Dean," the teen repeated, hurling himself towards him, his head finding a resting place on his shoulder, arms thrown around his neck.

Dean's arms mirrored those of his baby brother, pulling him in close, tightening around him like a vice. Sam was no longer the five-year old of his memories; as tall as him now, but his scent was still that of baby Sammy.

Time and space had lost their meaning ; there was only Dean and Sam, bound in an eternal embrace. They had been lost and now they were found. Time for explanations would come later.

TBC


	6. The Deer

1213\. England.

:

The deer grazed peacefully, chewing at the tender dew-covered grass carpeting the forest floor, unaware that her life would soon be cut short by a striking arrow. The young hunter who wielded it took aim and she fell to the ground with a soft thud.

Dean looked around warily before going forward to check out his kill. It was forbidden to poach the King's deer, a crime that carried the death-penalty.

He was a crack shot with a bow and his aim had been true, the animal had felt nothing. Dean didn't target the heart as the majority of hunters did, he always took a head shot; a part of him sorry to have to kill such a tame animal but he had a responsibility to his family whose stock of food was reduced to zero.

He worked quickly, if the gamekeepers caught him, he would be dangling high on the king's gallows.

:

His heart missed a beat as he heard a rustling in the undergrowth but his fear morphed into anger as he saw the tousled head of his younger brother peeking out from the shrubbery

"Sam," he hissed. "What are you doing here? I told you to stay home. You know how dangerous this is!"

"If it's dangerous for me then it's dangerous for you too," Sam declared mulishly. "I can give you a hand Dean. Together we can carry the deer back. You know it's too heavy for you alone."

"Go back Sam. I'll carve it up and take what I can," Dean answered angrily.

"Right." Sam scoffed. "As if that's not more dangerous, hanging around just waiting to get caught. I'm here now. We'll take it back and work on it at home. That way we'll have extra meat to share out with other families."

:

Dean shot a furious look at him.

His brother was a stubborn little shit who never listened, following him about into the most dangerous of situations, but now that he was here they might as well do as he said.

"Come on then," Dean sighed. "But when we're safely back home, I'm gonna string you up for coming after me!"

Sam nodded, a smile playing around his lips; he knew that Dean wouldn't lay a finger on him, he was just worried.

The brothers were as close as any two siblings could be. Their father had been caught and killed four years before while doing exactly what Dean was doing now and a few years later their beloved mother had died, never managing to get over the death of John, her husband.

The boys had been left on their own and Dean had taken his job of looking out for his little brother as a holy crusade, protecting him more fiercely than a tiger its cub.

:

The brothers heaved the animal onto their shoulders and started out towards home.

Sam was seventeen, four years younger than Dean. Recently he had gone through a growth spurt making him roughly the same height as his big brother and although his limbs were skinny and gangly he had a wiry strength that belied them.

Even together however, the journey back was an obstacle course as trying to make their way through the trees side by side with the heavy animal draped over their shoulders wasn't easy.

They were in sight of the one-roomed cottage they called home when a rough voice rang out. "Poachers. Over here men!"

:

"Dean, gamekeepers!" Sam's voice took on a note of panic. "What are we going to do?"

Dean cursed, they had nearly made it home scot-free.

He started to shrug the animal off his shoulder. "Leave the deer; Sammy. We've got to get out of here, for if they catch us there's no way we won't be hanging from our necks."

Sam loosened his hold and the deer thudded to the ground as the noise of running feet came ever closer.

:

"Come on," Dean whispered, his hand grasping Sam's forearm. "We can't go home, that's the first place they'll look. We'll have to hide in the forest."

"Dean…What..?"

"Not now, Sam! Save your breath for running, This isn't the time for talking!"

:

He yanked Sam along behind him and only let go when they found themselves beyond the clearing where their cottage stood, delving into the obscurity of the forest on the far side.

They made their way forward as fast as they could.

Dean and Sam were familiar with the vast woods. They had grown up in the clearing and their father had passed on all his experience of the woodland life, but a hidden tree-root was always a danger to a running man and in fact Sam tripped over one and went down with painful yelp, a hand going to his left ankle.

:

"Dean, Stop. I think I've sprained my ankle," Sam panted as he lay rocking on the ground.

Dean threw himself down beside him, pushing Sam's hand away and running inquiring fingers over his brother's leg.

"Sam, we can't stop now. They're still on our tail," Dean replied desperately, a terrible vision of Sam hanging on the gallows forming in his mind.

Sam looked up at him. "I'm not going to be able to outrun them, Dean, not like this. You go on and save yourself, brother."

 

Sam's eyes took on the expression of a wide-eyed hound-dog, an expression that usually got his big brother to capitulate to his wishes but this time Dean wasn't going to dance to Sam's tune. "You're frigging joking, Sam. There's no way I'm going to leave you here."

Sam huffed. "Then we're both going to die."

"We're not going to die, Sam," Dean retorted. "I've got a plan." And he proceeded to share with his sibling.

"But Dean…." Sam objected.

"Quiet Sam! There's no other way."

 

A few minutes later three gamekeepers almost fell over Sam who was propped up with his back against a tree trunk, a hand clutched around his ankle.

"Well, well, poacher," the leader smirked. "You'll soon find out what happens to peasants like you that dare to plunder His Highness' deer. A pity though that a young handsome lad like yourself has to end his days on the gallows."

"Yes," another joined in, leering evilly. "Maybe we can have some fun with him before we drag him back to the royal prisons."

 

That was the last thought to flash though the man's mind as an arrow took him in the forehead, swiftly followed at lightening speed by another two streaking to their targets.

Dean quickly shimmied down the tree he'd been perched in and went to check that the men were dead.

 

Sam was gazing up at him with a mix of compassion and relief in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Dean. You've never had to hurt anyone before," he said softly.

"Don't be Sam. They were going to drag you off to prison. I did what I needed to protect you."

"I thought you were only going to aim at their legs, why did you kill them, Dean?" Sam asked.

:

Dean pulled Sam up and secured his arm across his shoulder.

"They threatened you, Sammy. They were going to hurt you, put their hands on you. They deserved to die." Dean declared his voice hard. "Anyone who lays a hand on you has to answer to me."

"It works both ways, Dean," Sam declared softly, making sure Dean understood.

Dean had killed to protect him. Sam would do no less.

 

"What will we do now?

"We'll go back home." Dean replied. "If these three were the only ones to see us then the danger is over. We'll go back and retrieve the deer and pretend that nothing has happened. If not we'll take to the forest."

The brothers made their way forward together, one helping the other. Whatever was waiting for them, good or bad, they would face it together.

The End


	7. Fame and Fortune Sometimes Strike

Dean sauntered down the short ramp of stairs to the gravel forecourt, the morning sun glinting on the paint-work of the flaming red Ferrari parked nearby.

It wasn't the only car he owned, it wasn't even his favourite, but it sure made heads turn when he parked her around town.

Not that he had any problems with being recognised.

Dean Winchester was the number one male model of the moment, his handsome face and body plastered on billboards all over the country.

:

Slipping into the low-slung car, he caught sight of his brother, hair all over the place, back pack filled with books, hurrying down the same steps.

Today the kid had an important exam at college. He'd been worried all week about it and when his good-natured little brother was worried, he morphed into the most bitchy dude on the planet, complete with frowns and a range of comical scrunched-up expressions that made it difficult for Dean to keep a straight face.

Sammy was studying pre-law and no parent could feel more pride than Dean at his baby brother's scholastic record, a stream of A's.

And when the occasional B+ turned up which was as rare as an asteroid hitting the Earth, his brother mooned around devastated, and of course in regular big brother fashion Dean baited him incessantly.

:

He cast his mind back to five years earlier when their Dad had been killed by a freaking drunk driver as he'd been crossing the street after work. Dean had been eighteen and Sam a skinny fourteen.

Dean thanked his lucky stars he'd just begun working in the same auto shop as his father at the time, his age and meagre earnings allowing him to get custody of Sam.

He didn't know how he'd have dealt if after losing dad, he'd lost Sammy to some foster home too.

:

The brothers had been devastated by the loss. John had been the mainstay of their world and adjusting to his absence had been tough.

Mom had died not long after Sammy was born and their father had raised them as best he could but the burden of looking after his younger brother had fallen to Dean, who had accepted it with pleasure, for he'd adored the sweet little boy since the day his mother brought him home from hospital.

That first year on their own had been hard, money was tight and fifteen year olds seemed to need oodles of stuff, not that Sam ever asked for much, the kid was mature for his age but he had the unfortunate habit of shooting up every few months, growing out of clothes and shoes at a mind-blowing pace.

The little shit was taller than him now and he never forgot to rub it in. Sasquatch of a brother!

:

Then when Dean had found himself having to hold down two jobs to make ends meet, the unthinkable happened and a showy guy with a top-of-the-line Mercedes had brought his car in to get checked.

At first Dean had been freaked out by the guy's eyes roaming all over his face and body and he'd been tempted to clock him one, but reined himself in thinking it might not go down too well with his boss and he needed this job desperately.

Dean was used to people checking him out. He wasn't vain but he knew girls found him attractive, even some guys though he didn't swing that way, but he'd never been subjected to the close scrutiny this weirdo was giving him.

To his surprise, a card was pushed into his hand.

"Auditions tomorrow, at 9 am sharp. Clean yourself up and you might have a chance," the man said leaving Dean open-mouthed.

His eyes scanned the little white rectangle of cardboard. 'Singer Male Modelling Agency'.

He'd slipped the card into his pocket and forgotten all about it until that evening when Sam, whose turn it was to do the laundry, pulled it out of his oil-stained overall.

:

"What's this, Dean?" he'd asked curious.

"Some guy at work gave it to me. It's nothing important, " Dean had answered around the slice of pizza he was chewing.

"Singer Male Modelling Agency, " Sam read. "Why would he give you this? Did he say anything?"

"Huh.. Yeah. Somethin' about turning up tomorrow cleaned up."

:

Sam's quick wits soon put it together.

He'd only ever seen his big brother as 'Dean' and he'd never given much thought of how he might appear to others but he knew girls found Dean attractive, remembering how they'd fawned over him when he was in school.

Sam's knowledge of the world of high-fashion was limited, but he was sure his brother's looks could compare amiably with those of any of the brooding males who advertised everything from toothpaste to underwear on the city billboards, and the guy who gave him the card must have thought so too.

"Why don't you give it a go?" Sam suggested. "It can't do any harm."

"Dude," his big brother had grinned, crumbs of half-chewed pizza dotting his lips. "Do I look like a candidate for a wussy model?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Not at the moment," he'd huffed. " But even you can clean up good."

Dean shook his head and went back to watching the TV, but when Sammy got an idea in his head, he could vie with a mule in seeing it through, and his little brother had decided Dean should go to the agency.

:

The next morning Dean presented himself nervously in the front office.

He'd never been shy, had always presented himself self-confidently but this was completely out of his comfort zone, the stark whiteness of the luxurious waiting room way beyond his world of car-servicing and little brothers.

Yet, fate had smiled on him. The big boss himself had come to the selections and he'd taken a shine to Dean, or rather to Dean's face, gaining him his first awkward photo shoot for a brand of shaving cream. From there he'd never looked back.

In a few short years he'd become one of the highest paid models around, leading to the Winchester brothers shacking out in a spacious luxury home with all they could ever desire.

:

At twenty-three the world was his oyster, and Sammy was breezing his way though the prestigious Stanford university, making Dean's heart burst with pride.

Rolling down the window with a manicured hand, Dean called out. "You want a lift, Sammy?"

"Na. I'm fine Dean. I'll take the truck. Don't know how long I'll be."

Dean nodded. "You got your phone? "

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just because I forgot to take it with me that one time..."

"Yeah. Don't remind me. I almost had a heart attack when I couldn't contact you. You did end up in hospital with a broken ankle if memory serves me, dude!"

:

Sam's face took on a contrite expression.

If it had been the other way round and he'd not been able to find Dean, he'd have been just as worried.

The brothers had moved on from semi-poverty to riches but the experiences and love that bound them closely hadn't changed.

To the people outside their two-man world, Dean might be a glamorous model, but to Sam he was just Dean, his big brother.

And in Dean's eyes, Sam would always be Sammy, the geeky floppy-haired kid brother who made his life better by just existing.

:

A bright smile illuminated Dean's handsome features as he drove down the driveway, the Ferrari purring with unleashed power under his famous ass.

The enD


	8. A Life On The Ocean Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets high-jacked onto a sailing ship and Sam has problems of his own.

The bow of the ship lifted in impetuous abandon as the wind caught her sails.  
She'd been becalmed for the past three days, the air still and heavy, but now like an unfettered stallion she was eager to run free and show her mettle.

The crew let out an enthusiastic cheer as her sails tautened with the strong gusts.  
They were glad to be on the move, the Captain had worked them as hard, if not more during the lull, using the time to check out the ship, keeping her in prime condition.  
But there was no more than a good-natured grumbling, for every man laid his loyalty and devotion at their Captain's feet.

The Captain was at the wheel, one with the ship, man and machine bonded into a modern-day centaur, the varnished wood of the decks substituting the horse's hooves.

:

:A fine sight indeed, one of the two females on the ship mused to herself.  
Dean Winchester was endowed with undeniably good looks; his tall muscled figure, dark hair, green eyes and full lips, a sure magnet for any woman.

She turned to go below decks to the ship's kitchen, when she noticed her daughter eyeing the captain with an admiring glance, and she sighed.  
Jo was coming on fifteen, a woman in all but name. She could well understand the young girl's infatuation with the handsome man, but he saw her as a little sister and even when Jo came into the fullness of her beauty, Ellen knew she would never be privy to more than that.

:"You finished with the carrots? " she scolded, catching Jo's eye. "You'll get nothing done up here!"  
Jo gave her mother a withering glance, not in the least embarrassed at being caught out ogling the captain.  
"Not yet," she admitted. "Just needed a bit of fresh air."

Ellen harrumphed, nodding back towards the man at the helm "Fresh air my arse. Don't get any ideas in your head, young lady. He'll never be for you! Now the crew'll be wanting it's supper soon. The Captain's kept them working like slaves to keep his ship in order."

Jo rolled her eyes. Slaves indeed! Winchester treated his men like comrades. Everyone knew it. That's why each and every one would gladly die for him. Of course the amount of booty he shared with them after every boarding helped a lot too!

:

Captain Dean Winchester was oblivious to everything except the ship beneath his feet and the wind in her sails as he governed her through the swells of the ocean.  
As a child in the back streets of London, if someone had told him he'd be the Master of a ship, he'd have laughed out loud. Yet here he was. Funny how fate had a way of surprising you.  
For it could only have been Fate's benevolent eye that had given him the Impala.

:A pox had swept through the ship three years ago--the 'Loyal England' as she was called back then--regaling death to the entire crew except for three survivors, himself, the bosun Robert Singer and Pastor Jim, a cleric on his way to the Americas.  
Just as suddenly as the disease had begun, it burnt itself out, leaving the three of them to free the ship from the stench of death and rotting bodies.

Dean had been only eighteen then, but in the six years he'd been on the ship, he'd learned all that was needed to govern her.

Strangely enough no other vessel had crossed their path during that terrible period.  
Initially Dean had stared at the other two with dark haunted eyes, the horrific deaths of Captain Campbell and his ship-mates still a raw wound, but then a new awareness had set in.  
The ship was his for the taking!

Sure, Bosun Singer was the highest ranking man left alive.  
By rights Bobby should have taken command and veered towards England to consign the ship to the Naval authorities, but he'd always had a soft spot for Dean since as a twelve-year old the boy had been grabbed from the street on his way home and press-ganged onto the 'Loyal England', and so was willing to go along with the young man's plans.

Fate had killed off everyone except them. There had to be a reason in there somewhere, Dean reflected. He' d be a fool not to take advantage.

:

And so was born the legend of the black ship and its unbeatable Captain.  
The sight of her black sails and silver figurehead was enough to generate fear into the heart of any god-fearing vessel that it had the misfortune to intercept.  
Gradually the young captain had built up his crew taking only men who were willing, memory of how cruelly he'd been separated from what was left of his family.

He laid out his terms clearly. The newly baptised Impala was a pirate ship, owing loyalty to no man or nation except itself. Spanish, English, French, it was of no importance. They would all be prey for the Impala.

Dean had built up a small fortune in gold and silver looted from the slower galleons who plied back and forth from the Americas and until now, things had gone more than well for him.

He'd even flown in the face of the notion that women on ships brought bad luck when he'd rescued Ellen and her daughter on one of his rare stops on the coast of Pennsylvania.  
She was accused of witchcraft, and just the sight of little Jo crying for her mother had touched his heart.

He'd meant to leave them somewhere on land with a purse of coins, but Ellen had refused. She wanted to stay on the ship and when Dean had explained that the crew would be against it, she pressed her case.  
She was a good cook and had medic skills too. As for the vetoing of women on ships, it was just superstition, she argued. How could the presence of herself and her little daughter have any influence on the fate of the ship?  
In the end Dean had given in, even against the grumbling of the crew.

But when their luck seemed even better than usual with the two females aboard, the grumbling ceased and with Ellen's good cooking filling the crew's bellies, no-one complained again.

:

:

Now the Impala was heading towards England.  
Dean had left a father and a younger brother there when he'd been taken. If there was any hope of finding them, now was the time.

He'd had the men put up a new set of white sails, and painted on a different name to the ship, the 'American Eagle'. He'd dock in one of the smaller ports further up from London and make his way by horse to the city.

:

During his years on the ocean, he'd tried to push the memory of his father and brother from his mind.  
There had been nothing he could have done for them then, now though, he was wealthy, with a ship and loyal comrades to cover his back. He had to find out what had become of them, especially his baby brother Sammy.

When he'd been taken Sam had only been eight, a skinny, angelic-faced little boy with a mop of chestnut hair whom Dean had loved with all his heart. He'd dedicated himself to protecting the child from the world outside of their poor home.  
Their mother had died when Sam was a baby, and their father had taken it very badly, the once strong and smiling bear of a man changing into an ale-seeking sour individual whose bonhomie had died along with his golden-haired wife.

:

England

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Impala docked in the city of Bristol, flying a flag of the Colonies.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone," Dean briefed Bobby. "At the first sign of trouble, take the Impala out and head for the open sea."

"Aye, " Bobby replied frowning. "Just so you know, I'm not too taken with this idea, Dean. After nine years do you really think you'll manage to find your father and brother in the cesspit that is London?"

Dean sighed. " I don't know, but I've got to try, Bobby. Sam's my baby brother. I looked out for him when we were children. If he's still alive, he'll find a home with me here on the Impala, If not," he swallowed, "I'd rather know. Dad too."

Bobby understood that nothing was going to stop Dean from embarking on what Bobby considered a thankless undertaking, but he got that the kid had to try.

:

Dean's intention had been to ride into London but Ellen had pestered him with the idea of she and Jo coming along too.

"It's going to seem far more normal if you have an aunt and a younger sister with you. It'll get you into more places with much less suspicion."  
Dean had to admit it was a good idea, so instead of a horse he procured a carriage and when the time came to leave, his eyes and those of the on-looking crew popped wide at the elegance of Ellen and Jo, dressed in clothes stolen from the Impala's prey on the high seas.

"After you, dear aunt," Dean grinned, helping her and Jo into the rented carriage. "I'll be more than proud to show you both off."  
"Why thank you, nephew, " Ellen simpered, getting into the part, while Jo rolled her eyes in fond exasperation.

:

:

London Town

:::::::::::::::::::::

They found a genteel boarding house near the centre of the city, but by now Dean was impatient to get down to what he'd come for, finding Sam and his dad.

He left the women to settle into the rooms while he took to the streets. The area he'd grown up in had been a poor one, though still a good couple of steps up from the wretched slums.

It was no stretch of the imagination to believe Sam and Dad might still be living there, but as he approached the one-roomed house in which he'd been born, a little group of children were playing in the dusty street outside.  
Four pairs of eyes stared up in curiosity at Dean, his tight grey breeches, stylish coat and white linen neck-cloth marking him as a stranger to this area.

"Do you live here? " he asked, hiding the anguish the sight of the place gave him.

"Yes sir," the tallest girl replied after a quick glance at the others. "Me mum's away to work, and so's me dad."

Dean felt his hopes dashed at the first attempt, but he was a man on a mission and he certainly wasn't going to be put off at the first obstacle.

"How long?"

"Since Betty was a baby, " she said, pointing to a toddler.  
Dean sighed and threw the children some silver coins, which they scrabbled to catch. They wouldn't be able to tell him anything. He'd need to speak with the adults.

:

He made his way along the street to the tavern, careful not to dirty his polished boots on the shit that was profusely dotted along the way. His father used to come to The Cock's Rest; taverns were hot-beds of gossip, someone must surely remember his family.  
Inside it was as malodorous as he remembered, the stink of unwashed humanity mixed with old vomit and spilt beer.

:

All eyes turned to him and he wished he'd dressed in something more suitable for scouring the back alleys of London. He stalked over to the bar, recalling how he'd often come to call his father for dinner when he himself was only a small child.  
A silver coin glittered onto the counter. "Looking for John Winchester. You seen him around?"

The inn-keeper sniffed and pocketed the coin.  
"Can't rightly say as the name comes to mind,"  
Dean huffed and threw down another coin, copper this time. "This had better jog your memory, otherwise you might receive something less appreciated."  
He schooled his face into a scowl, one that had put the fear of death into many a weathered sailor, let alone a mere inn-keeper.

"Now I remember," the man squeaked. "Used to be a good customer o'mine, specially after his kid went and disappeared. Spent all his time nursing a cup of ale."  
"Where is he now?"  
"Dead and gone, far's I know. Poor bugger. Buried in some pauper's grave."

Dean's anguish increased a hundred-fold. "What happened to the other child?" he asked, heart hammering in fear of the reply.  
"Finished up in the workhouse poor kid. Sweet little thing too."  
"Where?" Dean growled, reaching forward and grasping the man by his dirty shirt, all the veneer of a gentleman deserting him. "Where?" he repeated shaking his hapless victim.

"I dunno. I swear." the man vowed.

:

A hand on his arm caused Dean to desist. He turned to see a care-worn woman staring at him.  
"It's you isn't it?" she asked." Dean."

Dean took her arm and walked her out of the tavern. No-one needed to know who he was.  
"You know me ?" he asked.  
"What a handsome man you grew up to be. Wouldn't have said it from the plain little kid you were."

:He stared at her trying to remember. "Maisie?"  
She nodded wryly. "I've changed too, but not for the better. A girl on her own doesn't get by too well."

"Weren't you wed to Jim Jones? He had a good job, if I remember," Dean frowned.  
"Had! Went and died on me. And here I am, Plying low-life taverns for a couple of pennies."

"Sorry to hear that, " Dean replied, and he was.

:

There was little left of the young woman she'd been, and who used to pass him new-baked biscuits now and then for little Sammy.  
"Do you know what happened to my family?"

"John took it bad when you didn't come home, Dean. Sam took it even harder. Wouldn't eat nor speak. Poor kid was a walking ghost. First your mammy then you. Anyway it drove John even further down the road to drink. They found him dead on his way home one night, and Sam was dragged away yelling and kicking to a workhouse."

"I've gotta find him, " Dean said anxiously. "You know where?"  
"Yeah, I can show you. But he's not there now. Some toff took a shine to him and spirited him away. Never seen him no more," she sighed.

"How do you know that?" Dean asked.  
She shrugged. "Tavern gossip."

"Come on, show me where this place is. They're sure to know the person who took him."

:Despite the bad news, Dean felt a little more optimistic. He could do nothing for his father but maybe he was still in time to help his little brother.

:

Before long Dean found himself standing outside the front entrance of the most depressing building he'd ever seen. His heart went out to his baby brother. He guessed that even his own gruelling life on the 'Loyal England' had been better than this. At least Dean had been able to breathe in the fresh sea air.

At the sight of his seemingly well to do visitor, the Beadle smiled ingratiatingly.

"Welcome to the Workshop for Abandoned Children. What may I help you with?"  
Dean smiled back just as ingratiatingly "I'm looking for one of your former inmates, Samuel Winchester. He was brought here some years ago when his father died, I believe."

The smile on the man's face grew tight. "Uh.. I don't seem to recall that name. Perhaps you have come to the wrong place. We are not the only establishment to help the poor."  
Dean's smile grew wolfish. "Think harder, " he growled. "Or I may have to resort to some unpleasant persuasion."

"Are you threatening me, sir?" the Beadle stammered.  
"Threatening you? Oh no. If you do not give me the name of the person who took the boy, I will do you harm, and be warned I'm very good at it."

:The man must have believed him for he went to rummage though an old ledger.  
"Here we are. One Samuel Winchester was given over to the paternal care of Lord George Brampton, Earl of Borchurch."  
"His address, " Dean hissed.

"12 Bluebell Crescent, London. "

:

Dean turned and walked out to where Maisie was still standing.  
"Thank you, " he said, taking her hands in his. "I have a name and an address."

She smiled and some of her former spirit came to the fore."I hope all goes well and you find your brother."  
"Come to my lodgings at this address and I will see you are well rewarded for your help, Maisie," he said. "If I am not there, I will leave word with my aunt to receive you."

She nodded, any pride she had in accepting charity long gone. Charity beat whoring any day!  
Dean released her hands and made his way back to Ellen and Jo.

:

That night he tossed and turned restlessly, images of his baby brother in the hands of the Beadle and whoever had him now, too horrific to bear. He woke up just after dawn began to lighten the sky and pulled on his clothes.

He left a note for Ellen, hailed a cab and asked to be taken to Bluebell Crescent.

The cabbie stopped in front of an elegant town house which seemed already abuzz with activity despite the early hour. He told the man to wait while he went to inspect the building.

A horse-drawn cart approach the servants' entrance and Dean crossed the road. "Excuse me, " he said. "I'm looking for Lord George Brampton's house."

"Well, you've come to the right place then, " the man grunted. "But if it's money you're after, stand in line. Bugger owes me a fortune in food and drink."  
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Bad payer is he?"

The man snorted. "Bad gambler. Nothing left but the clothes he stands in. Not that it stops him running up more debt."  
Dean ran an eye over the loaded cart. "There's enough stuff here to feed an army."

"M'lord's having a big do tonight. Trying to win back some of his money. Stupid git!"

:  
Dean was debating whether to steal into the house and look for Sam, but it wasn't his best option. If only he could get an invite to the night's entertainment, he'd have more time to work out what to do.  
Getting his hands on one would be problematic but not impossible, he grinned to himself.

'Hang in there little brother. I'm coming to get you!'

:

"Dean, " Ellen's gruff voice greeted him as he entered his rooms. "Where have you been? We were worried you might have run into trouble."

Dean's smile was wide.

"I went to examine the house Sam's supposedly in. Tonight they're having a little get-together. We don't have an invitation, but I think we'll manage to get in just the same. You two are gonna have the chance to show off your finery, ladies."

Ellen grinned. "Never thought you'd ask!"

:

An hour before the required time, Dean, Ellen and Jo, were sitting in a hired carriage, waiting for the guests to begin arriving. He was waiting for a threesome to show up, hoping to be able to take their place.

:Once again fate came through and after a short while a carriage drew up behind theirs, from which a man, woman and young girl descended.  
Dean nodded to Ellen and Jo, and each of them threw themselves onto the unsuspecting guests, dragging them hastily into the closed carriage. In a moment, they were gagged and trussed up like turkeys

Dean searched the man's pockets looking for the invitation, finally finding it in the woman's evening purse.  
"Nothing's gonna happen to you," he assured the frightened prisoners. "I'll send someone out to free you soon."

He took Ellen's arm, and with a demure Jo by their side, they made their way to the front door.

:

A bewigged footman took their card and ushered them forward into the main salon where a small number of guests were huddled in groups, making conversation.

Dean looked around eagerly, hoping for a glimpse of his brother, not quite sure if he'd even recognise Sam right off.  
Nine years had passed after all.

"We better not mingle too much," Ellen whispered. "If we're asked, remember our story. Wealthy merchants just back from the Americas, with the accent on wealthy! If the man of the house is penniless, I don't think he'd kick us out."

Dean smirked his agreement.

"I think I'll go mix with the younger girls, " Jo said. "They might not know who all the guests are anyway."

:

Dean stared admiringly as she glided off.

"She's all grown up now, Ellen, " he said. "You're gonna have your work cut out keeping the men away."  
Ellen sighed. "Yeah. Though I've a feeling she's already set her heart on the wrong person."

Dean didn't answer, but Ellen got the impression he'd already worked it out. Very little got past their captain, she mused.

"I'm gonna take a look round, " Dean said.  
"Be careful, " Ellen admonished him. We're on our own here, no crew to watch our backs."  
"I will be."

:

Dean sauntered calmly into the next room where a game of cards was already taking place. He stood and watched, waiting to see if the owner of the establishment was seated amongst the players.

He didn't have to wait long until one of them addressed a bullish, red-jowled man wearing a dusky grey jacket. Lord George Brampton in all his glory.

Now that Dean had singled him out, he paid attention to his playing style. Though he was clearly experienced, the man had no skills in reading his opponents' tells. That was probably why he'd lost a fortune, Dean mused.

He was about to turn away and make a round of the other rooms when a name rang out from Lord George's lips.

:

"Samuel. Come here boy!"

Dean stilled, his eyes going to the door.

The tall gangly seventeen-year old who entered the room had little of the boy he remembered.  
Sam, for it was he, no doubt in Dean's mind, was almost as tall as himself, shoulders beginning to widen as adulthood came nearer. But the hazel eyes and tousled locks were still the same.

Dean's instinct was to run to him and wind his arms around the slim body, but he held back.  
He'd found his brother, but he wanted to know more, and that could usually be found by observing, something Dean was good at.

:

Sam's head was bowed, his eyes lowered as he approached Lord George.  
"Come sit by me!" The older man patted the empty seat next to him. "I've a feeling you'll bring me luck tonight."

Dean watched as Sam perched on the edge of the seat as far away as he could.  
' No love lost there,' he noted, feeling anger rise in his throat. Sam didn't like the man, that meant George had done something to cause that.

:

Eventually one of the players pushed back his chair. "I need to clear my head," he said but Dean had noticed how he'd been losing a good few games.

He took his chance and pushed forward, approaching the gaming table while pulling out a wad of banknotes. "You gentlemen mind if I sit in. Just back from the Americas. Looking to play for some real cash," Dean said smoothly.

George looked up. "Don't think we've met, old chap," he said, eyes going to the money in Dean's hand.  
"We haven't. I'm good friends with the Ravendales. Kind enough to bring me along tonight," he smiled, seeming completely sincere.

:

George must have thought so too, or maybe he was hypnotized by the wad of money. In any case he graciously waved Dean to the empty chair.

The elder Winchester noticed Sam looking up at him through his eyelashes, but he didn't get enough time to interpret the glance before Sam lowered his gaze again, though Dean was sure he'd caught a hint of fear in the hazel eyes.

'Whatever's scaring you Sammy, it won't after tonight. Hang in there little brother.'

:

Dean found himself anxious to play.

He was good at cards. Sometimes on the Impala there was little else to while away the evenings.  
Bobby had taught him, under Pastor Jim's disapproving glance, but the good churchman sometimes sat in himself so there was little for him to pass judgement!

As he concentrated on his game, Dean could feel Sam's gaze on him. He wondered if Sam saw anything of the big brother he'd known, or if this stranger was just another wealthy gambler Lord George hoped to rip off.

:

:Dean would have been glad to know that Sam did feel there was something familiar about the man who'd just taken his place at the gaming table, but as Maisie had said, Dean had changed mightily from the child he'd been.  
But any familiarity Sam felt was overshadowed by fear.

Since John had died, Sam's life had been unspeakable atrocious. His childish good looks had been his downfall and strangely enough, the two years he'd passed in the workhouse had been the least terrible.  
It had been when Lord George had plucked him from amongst the other orphans that his life had deteriorated into hellishness.

He shuddered as he remembered the first time the man had come to him. He'd been persuasive and gentle, never hurting Sam more than he could take, but his body had been defiled.  
Eventually when Lord George's finances had taken a turn for the worse, Sam had been used as payment for some of the debts. He shuddered, Lord George had been an angel compared to some of the men who'd used him.

So when he'd seen the stranger sit in, he'd hoped with all his heart that George would win tonight and that Sam wouldn't have to satisfy this man in payment.

:

:

Dean concentrated on the game.  
A couple of the other men at the table were excellent players, but Dean had no trouble in keeping pace.

He was oft distracted though, his eyes going to Sam, heart filled with joy at having found his baby brother.

:

They had just finished a hand which George had won. He signalled to a man-servant. "Fetch my snuff-box. It's in my bed-room."

Before the domestic could obey, Sam spoke up. "Uh, I need to excuse myself for a moment. I'll fetch the snuff on my way."  
George frowned. "Be quick young Samuel. Verily you are bringing me luck tonight."

Sam nodded and made a hasty exit.

:

Dean's eyes followed his brother, something that didn't go unseen by Lord George. "Sweet little thing, isn't he?" he chuckled.  
Only then did Dean's hackles rise. Had this man laid hands on his baby brother?

Dean was no innocent, he knew the facts of life as far as helpless children were concerned, but he'd have time for George later.

"Excuse-me, gentlemen but I have to pay a short visit." With a lazy stride he went to the door.

:

Sam had said he would go to the bedroom. Dean supposed it was upstairs and he quickly made his way up the winding staircase.  
He glanced into the various rooms until he spotted Sam in the furthest one. He leaned against the doorway until Sam turned, taken aback by the expression of panic that appeared on Sam's face

"What are you doing here?" Sam gulped.

Dean held out his hands in a non-threatening motion. "Hey, it's okay. I only want to talk. Didn't want to say anything in front of the others."  
Sam's features took on a pained expression. "Do I know you?"

Dean let a smile grace his lips."Yeah, Sammy. You do."

The younger man's mouth dropped open, a glint of hope in his gaze. "Only Dean ever called me Sammy," he said.  
Dean smile widened into a grin as he stepped into the room. "Well then, what does that tell you, little brother."

Sam rushed forward and threw himself into Dean's arms, his head burrowing into his big brother's neck. "Is it really you Dean? Please tell me this isn't a dream."  
His voice deteriorated in to a sob. "I waited so long for you to come home, but you never did."

:

Dean rubbed his baby brother's back.  
"I know," he soothed. "I was kidnapped. I couldn't get back to you no matter how hard I tried, Sammy."

Sam stilled for a moment. "Take me with you Dean. Please don't leave me here, please, " he pleaded.  
Dean pushed Sam back. He wanted to see his eyes. "Has Brampton laid hands on you?"  
Sam lowered them.

:

"He'll pay for everything he's done to you," Dean swore, picturing himself as he gleefully strangled the life out of the pervert.  
"No," Sam broke in. "No, he's not worth it...just take me away from here. I tried to escape more than once but I always got dragged back. Please Dean."  
Sam gave him an entreating gaze that Dean found himself unable to refuse.

He nodded. "Okay, let's flee this place. There's a carriage parked out front. You'll know it's mine as there are three people tied up inside. Wait there."

"Why can't we go out together, " Sam asked, unwilling to leave his brother now that he'd miraculously found him again.

"I have to collect the two ladies I came with, then I'll join you. Can you slip out without being seen, Sammy?"

His little brother nodded.

Dean smiled encouragingly. "Go then."

:

Dean made his way down to Ellen and Jo, nodding to them.  
Ellen gestured back in understanding. She gathered up her daughter. It was time to go. Dean had finished what he'd come to do. Either he'd found Sam or he hadn't.

:

Dean escorted the two women to the coach, hoping to find Sam safely inside, sighing with relief when he caught sight of his sibling's pale face through the window.  
They quickly discharged the three captives, leaving them bound and confused on the side walk. Dean took the reins while the women studied the young man sitting across from them.

"HI, I'm Jo. This is my mom Ellen. Are you Sam?"

"Uh—yeah."  
The women exchanged a smile. Two Winchesters were better than one, especially when both had such good genes!

:

:

A few days later, Sam was looking around him wide-eyed. "You're a pirate?" he asked awed, as Dean showed him round the Impala.

"What? You got something against pirates? " the elder Winchester grumbled, faking indignation.

"No, not a thing!" Sam said, a wide smile confirming it.

:

The End


	9. Spaced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Space can be a mysterious place, especially when Winchesters are involved.
> 
> Part one of two.

Dean deftly manoeuvred the ship until it was lined up flush with the assigned air lock, humming cheerfully as he waited for the docking clamps to secure the Impala to the space station.

He hardly had time to cut the power before Sam scooted out of the cockpit, his “See you later, Dean,” trailing in the air behind him.  
A smile curled Dean's full lips.

Little brother Sammy had his girl here on the station and the twenty-two year old was absolutely smitten by the beautiful Jessica Moore.  
Dean still didn't understand how his shy geeky little brother had managed to enchant the perky long-legged blonde. But there it was.

Added to that was Sam's urgency to contact his tutor here on Deep Space Kansas. Although he was studying pre-law using the standard long-distance, college schooling via computer, his brother needed to check in personally at given intervals.

 

Leaning back in his seat, Dean took a few minutes to relax before disembarking onto the station proper.  
Deep Space Kansas was one of the bigger and busier stations in the quadrant, always crowded with traders and visitors stopping off for supplies, to buy and sell their merchandise, or simply to pick up on the latest news.

Dean wasn't fond of crowds; could be the way he was raised, just his dad and Sam as company, but the grand mass of people on the various space stations made him feel closed in and uncomfortable.

However, he wasn't going to deny himself a cool beer at Harvelle's Terra Bar.  
He had friends there, and he knew he wouldn't be seeing Sammy anytime soon, so if he wanted to be clued in on the latest gossip, the bar was the place to go.

Soon he was caught up in the mass of pedestrians milling around on the main thoroughfare which ran the length of the station and housed the commercial properties.

 

He pushed through the swinging doors that gave Harvelle's an old world saloon feel, and made his way to the counter.

“Dean, “ Ellen smiled in greeting. “Didn't expect to see you so soon. Not that I'm complaining, mind. The place always seems to attract more patrons of the female sex when you're around.”

“Well, what can I say, Ellen. I'm awesome. There are those who recognise that,” Dean grinned.

“Unfortunately, Jo is among them,“ Ellen grunted.  
Dean held up is hands in mock-alarm. “Hey. I've never encouraged her, not once.”

“I know, “ Ellen acknowledged. “It's all on her side.”

“Just keep that in mind,“ Dean replied with a grin.. “I don't want my ass whupped by her enraged mom when she moons over me!”

Ellen harrumphed. “So why are you here then?”

“Sammy was due to check in with his tutor, so we made a quick detour. If he'd had to miss out, I'd never have heard the end of it. Sam can be a real little bitch when he's pissed.”

“Huh. And the blonde bombshell he's dating has nothing to do with it?”

Dean winked. “If Jessica was my girl, I'd want to see her as often as I could too! So,” he continued, slipping onto a bar-stool and palming the bottle of beer Ellen plopped on the counter, “anything interesting been goin'on?”

“Na. The station has been as quiet as the grave. Even Ash is bored. His computer keeps coming up with big round zeros. Just means he spends more time sleeping, boozing and ….uh......entertaining!”

Dean tilted his bottle. “Great life, if you can get it.”

“Yeah, but I'm fond of the dude. He's good with repairs around the bar. Guess I'll keep him, warts and all.”

She paused for a second as if considering whether to speak.  
“Heard anythin' from your daddy?” 

Dean's features took on a stony expression. “No,” he answered curtly.

Ellen sighed, inwardly cursing the fucker. How John Winchester could've taken off and abandoned his boys, she'd never understand. Just the thought of leaving Jo behind made her heart ache.

Still, she insisted. “How long's that been now?”  
“A while.” 

Ellen desisted, she wasn't gonna get anything more out of the boy, so she changed the subject.  
“So, how's Sam doing? You're gonna have a lawyer in the family. Won't be no talking to you then, huh Winchester?”

A proud smile stamped itself on Dean's face. “Geek boy got all the brains. He's gonna make a great lawyer.”

“You're no slouch in the brains department yourself, Dean,” she countered. The boy was too modest!  
“How long you been piloting that old bucket of yours? Since you were hardly big enough to reach the controls.”

“Now look, Ellen. I can forgive a lot of things, but calling my Baby an old bucket....well I don't know I'll ever be able to pass over an insult like that.”

“If I give you a couple of crates of beer at half price, will that get me back in you good books?”

“Maybe. Not promising anything,“ Dean grunted.

 

The blaring of the station's siren and the flurry of activity which could be seen through the bar's windows caused Ellen and Dean to rush to the doors.

“What the hell's goin' on now?“ she grumbled. 

“I dunno, “ Dean replied, but his heart began to pound as he noticed the activity was concentrated near the area where the university's small campus was situated.

He broke unto a run, the College was back near the docking area, but by the time he got there it was all over.  


  


“Fuck!”  
Lying on the ground was Jessica, her cheeks already beginning to lose their bloom, paling into the hopelessness of death.

“They took a kid, “ a voice said. “There was a tall young dude with the girl. A couple of guys in masks dragged him off.”

 

Sammy! It could only be his brother. His gut was telling him so, and Dean relied on his instincts as much as his eyesight. But why would anyone take him?

Looking around in panic hoping to catch a glimpse of his brother, his eyes went to the large panoramic windows.  
A small ship was leaving the station and Dean knew without doubt Sam was on it. 

 

His legs pumping like pistons, he ran for the Impala. There was no way he was letting the fuckers take Sam.  
Sliding into his chair, Dean waited impatiently for the clamps to open. If he got away now, he'd be able to lock his tracking system onto the fleeing ship.

“Come on, baby. We gotta get Sammy back.”  
The flickering dot that was his target wavered before stabilizing itself on Dean's radar.  
“Yatzee.”

Even if it switched into hyper-warp; now that Dean had the lock, he'd still be able to follow, jumping when the unknown spaceship did.

 

Just as Dean expected, his prey blinked out, but the Impala had no bother staying on her tail. 

After a few jumps the ship slowed into normal space. Dean didn't have a clue where they were, he'd been too busy keeping tabs on the changes in direction.  
The medium-sized planet which filled his view-screen was completely unknown to him.

He pulled back. The people who'd taken Sam were clearly making for the planet. He'd wait until they landed, then bring the Impala down.

The fuckers wouldn't know what hit them. Nobody took his brother without paying a very heavy price.  
The reason they had, would have to wait until later. His sole purpose was getting Sammy back.

 

Once on the surface, relieved that it was a class A planet with breathable air, Dean followed the indications on his hand-held device.  
His search ended when he came up against a normal-looking building tucked away behind a thick copse of trees.

He shook his head in confusion. What the hell was going on? 

Creeping up to one of the windows, he glanced in. Sam was sitting on a chair his wrists tied to the armrests, a gag around his mouth.  
Dean felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his heart. His instinct had been correct. Sam HAD been on the ship.  
All he had to do now was take out the bastards who'd dared to kidnap him.

He was about to turn away and look for the best way in, when one of the men came into view. There was something familiar about him and when he pulled of his mask, Dean knew why.

“Dad?”


End file.
